A flash of panic seized her. She’d only been kissed once before, by Will, in the garden. Would this be the same? It had been so long ago. What if she’d forgotten what to do?
And damn it all, why was she thinking ofArden,now?
“Close your eyes.”
Lucy did as he commanded. She slid her hands up, over his lapels and onto his broad shoulders . . . . and held her breath.
She’d expected the kiss to be forceful—maybe even a little desperate—but instead, it was gentle, tentative, as if he was holding back for fear of scaring her.
Her heart squeezed in sympathy. Did he expect her to reject him?
His lips were warm, and surprisingly soft, and she stilled, enchanted. His hand came up to cup her jaw, and when he started to lift his head, to end the contact, she went up on tiptoe, following him when he would have pulled away.
She pressed her lips to his again, silently urging him to deepen the kiss, and with a groan that sounded like surrender, he gave her what she wanted. He pulled her closer, hard against his chest, slanting his mouth over hers as his tongue slipped between her lips to taste.
Yes!
Familiarity, so strong it was almost like relief, flooded her.Thiswas how it had felt to kiss Arden. This swooning, swooping sensation. This delicious dance of breath and lips and teeth.
In fact, it wasexactlylike she remembered. In the darkness behind her eyelids, images of Arden overlaid themselves with those of the Phantom. Past and present merged in a confusing swirl.
Almost without thought, Lucy slid her hands up to the nape of his neck to stroke the hair that curled over his cravat, and felt the Phantom tense against her.
Did he think she was trying to remove his mask?
She was about to murmur a reassurance when she realized his hair was. . . damp. As if he, too had been out in the rain.
She stilled, confused by the discovery, just as he lifted his head.
“I’m . . . sorry.” He panted. His voice was even deeper than before. “That was . . . more than just one kiss.”
His breath tickled her lips and she deliberately kept her eyes closed, trying to ignore the niggling feeling of recognition she was experiencing, the bizarre sense ofdèja-vu.
The Phantom’s cologne was stronger than it had been last night—almost as if it had recently been applied—but she could detect a trace of Arden’s scent, too. It was more subtle, but definitely there, like a faint echo.
His hand was still cupping her jaw. With dawning suspicion, she put her own hand up to cover his, and stroked her thumb over the back of his hand.
Her heart missed a beat.
Arden’s scar.The one she’d felt in the darkness of the tunnels. There, on the Phantom’s hand. What were the odds of two men having exactly the same injury?
Impossibly slim.
A host of conflicting emotions bombarded her. She snapped open her eyes and took a good, hard look at his lips.
They were the exact same lips that had haunted her dreams from half the world away.
She gazed up, trying to determine the exact color of his eyes behind the mask, and even though they was shadowed, she was sure they were the laughing slate-blue she’d known for years.
Suspicion coalesced into certainty. How could she have missed something so obvious? How had she been so blind?
Will was the Phantom.
And she’d just kissed him.
Again.
But why? Why would he disguise himself so? Was this some elaborate game to provide entertainment for himself and to humiliate her?
